Somnium Aeterna
by Laetus Nix
Summary: Eternal dreaming; such a romantic, idealized vision. Here, one can lose himself in the mysteries of the unconsciousness and succumb to the darkness of the unknown. This is a dream, and perhaps that is all that it is. But only perhaps.


_I don't mind dying._

Noctis hesitated momentarily in his tracks as fear began to catch up to his steps. His hackles risen, his teeth bared in a savage snarl — here, where life and death so easily intermingled, there was no time, no opportunities for leisure like prince-like behaviours. Quite simply, there was no time for hesitation; swiftly, Noctis found himself sprinting off once again, away from this masked marauder, his heart heavy with unbidden screams and his ears ringing with laughter of a thousand madmen.

How lightly he found himself dancing upon the ground, though gaining distance was quite the other story. Darkness enveloped his mind, as tangible as the growing panic embedded deep in the back of his mind. Black evil choked him to the point of near nausea. Frantic digits tested the air before him — rather the tips of his fingers be shredded off than the entirety of him. His heart was quite certainly in his throat, now, a relentless force choking him, strangling him, destroying him from within before the —

He turned a sharp corner, realising too late it was the wrong thing to do as the faceless grin descended upon him once more, and, with the quicksilver appearance, felt at his exposed throat a sharp pang that at once wrenched from him his last breath —

And suddenly, he was upright once again, the bitter taste of sweat trickling into his gaping mouth as he stumbled, bewildered by his surroundings. _The trickery of life and death._ But he had fallen, merely seconds ago, to the angry bite of death. Surely he was not still alive? His belated gasp of surprise was cut short by a jagged ache in his throat,

_the same place where the demon had skewered him,_

that terrified him, that reeked of the possibility of death. His fingers found absently about his neck; where was previously smooth had assumed a thick, knotted rope of a scar, still raw and burning where the knife had glazed over his skin. _Like every time before._ Every bated breath was taken with a great spasm of pain that throttled him to the point where his very futile attempts at life could be the cause that killed him.

His knees nearly gave away then as fresh fear accompanied a rush of memories. The bodiless smile was still out there somewhere, awaiting him. But for what reason? Noctis neither cared nor thought to seek out the answer. What mattered now was escaping this terror.

He set off once more, stumbling over a short flight of stairs before arbitrarily correcting his step. He did not flinch even when he laid upon his shoulder a deep gash, trailing blood, from a branch with serrated edges. He did not blink an eye even when the wicked ravens with their sinful eyes took to the skies in a flurry, their ebony feathers barely teasing his sweat-ripened cheeks. So lost he was in this impenetrable darkness that he could not distinguish if he was still sprinting at breakneck speed or caught somewhere in paradoxes of time.

_Not when I know what lies beyond_

He flinched, turning his face away shyly, when he collided blindly with the faceless crowds passing him by, laughing at him, scorning him. Fingers pointed accusingly at the prince with the mottled throat. Their saviour no more. From every shadow lurked the potential hazard of the invitation into eternal darkness. Noctis batted away astringent, disease-wrought claws that snatched at him from the alleyways, each of them clutching the quicksilver that would eventually serrate his lifeline. Sightless terror consumed him; in this uninviting town, this city ruled by the darkness, there would be no sanctuary. No haven.

The faceless figure laughed. _You can run, but you can't hide._

And run he did, putting one last effort forth as he stumbled into a monastery, a chapel with sky-winding glass windows of bleak, dim colours. It was absolutely silent save for Noctis's heavy breathing and the monotonous chanting of the mages and their brethren clad in shades of night. They did not look up even when he burst into their private refuge from the sinful world, flinch they did not from their pagan ritual even when he let out a cry of alarm as the familiar knife descended once more –

He threw himself backwards, a split-second earlier, as the blade skid uncertainly across his visage, splitting his skin and drawing crimson once again. Noctis turned sharply and fled, encouraged by the mindless wail of the mages, blissful terror bleeding from his lips as he felt a splitting pain that severed his spinal –

Agony was short-lived. He saw his childhood, his first and his last love, the shattering of the last crystal.

_No!_

And almost as swiftly, he was on his feet again, breathless and sprinting toward Etro knew where. But perhaps the goddess of death did indeed know. Every shadow taunted him, every flicker of the eye in the soulless crowd. In a world of eternal night, he would stand alone. He would feel the burden of a new scar extended across his back, a new shameful tattoo, a terrible memory, the revelation and the branding of his incompetence. The burning in his eyes, his throat, his soul. He was a failure to the throne, a blemish to the crystal's name. A damned prince.

He continued to run, not knowing to where, not knowing if he would ever make it there. He wailed at the sky, cried out into the heavens, the fates, knowing that they taunted him with every flicker of the desolate city's lights, knowing that even his voice betrayed him now. The night stars laughed at the diminishing light of the night sky. He wept for the treachery of the light, of the good.

And suddenly, the night spoke. The foolish prince would not care for the content. He would not stop to question the darkness. The only thing he knew then was a calm desire for it all to end. He would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. Not the state of the Crystal, not the fate of his country under the direct assault of Niflheim, not the wellbeings of those privileged to speak with him. The darkness extended a hand, a cold hand, a sick, rotting hand. Refuge. Home. Forbidden lies like the lash of a wicked snake's tongue. Blinded, he accepted the darkness and fell in love.

The faceless figure with her deceitful eyes smiled.

_Not when I know that I will be safe._

[[This was actually based off of a real dream - or nightmare - that I had, which got me thinking.

I died every time by a slash to the throat, except for the last time, as you can see here. I "woke up" by going into the darkness when the "light" of the night couldn't save me.

...it's actually a lot more depressing.

And I've actually been working on this for the past month. Wow. OTL

There's a bunch of ways to interpret what goes on here. I'll leave you guys to it.

But I hope you enjoy it.]]


End file.
